Читать книгу Freudian Slip - Erica Orloff - Страница 11

“SHE’S CUTE WHEN SHE smiles,” Julian said to Gus. He leaned closer, as if inspecting a specimen under glass. “She has dimples.”

“Hmm?” Gus was looking at a file that had materialized out of nowhere. They were still standing in her messy apartment, though they had moved to the small galley kitchen—typical by Manhattan standards with an Easy-Bake-size oven and a refrigerator shorter than Julian’s shoulder.

“I said she’s cute. What are you looking at?”

“This?” Gus waved the file folder, and it disappeared. “Nothing. Case files.”

“Shouldn’t I look them over or something, if I’m going to be some sort of celestial social worker?”

“Afraid not. The Boss believes in intuition. In the power of connection.”

“What kind of New Age bullshit is that?”

“She’s afraid of self-fulfilling prophesies. They’re the worst prophecies of all, you know.”

“Slow down, Gus. You may be used to this Neither Here Nor There lingo, but it’s all new to me. I’m still getting used to being…away from my body.”

“Well, the Boss has been frequently misquoted by prophets. A lot of them, I have to tell you, were cuckoo.” Gus twirled a finger round and round by his temple.

“And of all the crazy prophets,” Gus continued, “self-fulfilling ones drive Her the craziest. If you read Kate’s case…Let’s suppose it said she was depressed.”

“I’d get her to pop a Prozac.”

“Precisely. Then you would assume it to be so—that she was depressed. And let’s say it said she was destined to live the rest of her life alone and lonely. Well, you’d hardly work to get her a new trustworthy boyfriend, would you now? No, you’d see the case file, assume it was her fate, and it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy for poor Kate. You’d tell her it was useless to look for love again. But if instead you knew nothing about her story and had to intuit it and learn it fresh, then, frankly, anything could happen—and in this world it often does.”

“So in other words, your Boss doesn’t believe in predestination.”

Gus’s eyes opened wide. “Who knew you were aware of such a word? Your SAT scores give no indication of that sort of vocabulary.”

“I was stoned when I took them. All right, Gus, so what do I do?” Julian looked at Kate crying and inexplicably wanted to give her a hug, which he knew was futile since she couldn’t see or feel him. Not to mention he wasn’t the hugging type.

“Don’t know, my boy. Up to you to figure it out. Well…I’m off.”

“Hold it!” Julian grabbed Gus’s arm. “You’re off? You’re God damn off?”

“You wouldn’t damn Her if you knew what’s good for you.”

“But you can’t leave me here. You can’t possibly leave me here, Gus!” Julian heard the panic in his own voice.

“But I have other cases.”

“Well, before you traipse off to the next friggin’ coma, what if I need you? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know the rules. I don’t know anything, but that this chick has had a really bad day.”

“I’ll check in from time to time.”

“But—”

“Julian, the Boss wouldn’t have entrusted Kate to you if She thought you couldn’t handle it. She is all-knowing. You’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t be fine. You tell this Boss of yours I am not happy.”

Gus laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, that attitude may get you a hot table and a complimentary bottle of vodka at the latest restaurant in the Hamptons, and it may even get you a shag with a porn star, but that ‘famous DJ’ attitude of yours doesn’t do anything for the Boss. She really hates star trips. If you only knew what awaited a certain Hollywood starlet unless she shapes up.”

“Star trips? You call not wanting to be left alone as a disembodied voice in some strange girl’s apartment, having no idea what the hell to do a star trip?”

“Julian, my dear young man, you may not like this, but it’s your job, and for now, it is simply what you have to do.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I just leave and go wander around the city? Go hang out with some other…spirits? Go get drunk? I don’t know. What if I just don’t?”

Gus removed his monocle. He sighed. He took out the neat little polka-dotted pocket square that he had tucked into his suit and unfolded it, cleaned his monocle, put it back on, refolded his pocket square precisely and returned it to his pocket.

“Well?” Julian asked impatiently.

Gus clasped his hands together. “I didn’t want to have to get…tough with you. But I’m afraid you just aren’t getting it. There are two outcomes if you die. Go up. Go down. That’s it, my young man. Your score sheet with the Boss doesn’t have very much on the Good Side. However, there is much on the bad side. An endless array of crimes and misdemeanors, so to speak.”

“What do you mean? A score sheet?”

“Heavenly Accounting. It’s a huge department. More employees there than almost anywhere. A lot of CPAs end up working there. All the anal-retentives do also. The Heavenly Accounting department does very meticulous work. You have a file, just as Kate does. Just as I do. The filing system alone is one of the most magnificent works of organizational genius ever invented, thanks to Luca Pacioli.”

“Who?”

“A friend of da Vinci. The father of modern-day double-entry accounting. Your file, Julian, has very, very, very few entries on the good side. I even had Pacioli himself double-check it. If you look at it as an accounting system, your good side is in arrears. In the red. Your bad side…one of the thickest on record.”

“Gimme a break. What about someone like Hitler?”

“Was there any doubt as to which direction he would go?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Julian, if you accomplish this, if you do what you are asked, and do it well, it will erase a tremendous amount on your bad side. It won’t balance your books, so to speak, but…if you don’t, I’m afraid it will reflect badly with the Boss. Now, I can’t force you to do anything. That’s what free will is. You have free will, even in Neither Here Nor There. But as your Guide, I am urging you to consider what I am saying very carefully.”

Julian stared at Gus. He had never, until today, thought about death. That wasn’t entirely true. He had thought about it a couple of times after he drove while drunk and woke up the next day unsure of how he got home. He had a couple of times when he knew he had shot up too much heroin. When he mixed too many drugs. He had thought about it and brushed the thought away. Death was far away. Far away. Beyond that, he hadn’t thought of going anywhere when he died. Not Heaven. Not Hell. He didn’t believe in either. He thought when you died, you became worm meat. Nothing more. Nothing less. But now, faced with actually going to Hell?

“All right. So that’s it? I just hang out here. With her. The crying chick.”

“Yes, and try to discern what she needs to do.”

“Do I get to see her naked?”

Gus stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before.”

“Well, do I? I mean, if I’m here, can I watch her take a shower? Can I watch her get dressed in the morning?”

“I suppose so,” Gus said, annoyance in his voice. “But that really shouldn’t be your goal.”

“Well, if you’re leaving me here, then I’m lookin’ at her naked.”

“Fine,” said Gus. “I’ll inform the Boss.” He shook his head.

“Fine. You do that.”

“I will.”

With that, Gus disappeared.

Julian was irritated. Who the hell did this Boss think She was? Just depositing him here like this? Screw it. He didn’t want to go to Hell. He didn’t want to go to Heaven, either. And what? Play a harp? What he wanted was to be back in his body. But for the moment, that looked like it was out of the question. However, that didn’t mean he knew what to do in the meantime. He looked at Kate. “Now what?”

He began to closely examine her apartment. It was a very small one-bedroom, though it had floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, with crown molding and hardwood floors. A nonworking white-brick fireplace flanked one wall. At least Julian assumed it was nonworking as there wasn’t a speck of soot anywhere on its hearth. On the fireplace mantle were a half dozen pictures in frames, all of an older man and a little girl. Julian walked closer to the pictures. In every snapshot, the little girl was smiling, her hair in pigtails or braids, her dimples showing.

“This is you,” he said to Kate. “And this must be your dad.” She didn’t react. Julian looked at the pictures again. Her father was tall, with dark hair, a little bit of gray at the temples. He had brown eyes and a big smile, just the slightest hint of a smirk, like he knew an inside joke he just had to tell you. Over to the left was a picture of her father in a fireman’s dress uniform. Ladder 10.

“Is this how he died?” Julian asked, remembering her whispered prayer. She told God that her father was dead. “Did he die in a fire?”

Julian walked over to the couch, near where Kate lay on the floor, sniffling.

“My father used to beat the crap out of me,” he said. He stood over her, looking down, trying to fathom what was in her mind. He was hoping that being in Neither Here Nor There would gain him some sort of psychic power. Then he could figure out all her problems, go back to his body, and hopefully go home. To the living. But he found he had no idea what she was thinking. He had no special powers. “My dad was a prick. Nothing like your dad, I suppose. He looks like a good guy in the pictures. You’re lucky. I mean, he may be dead, but while he was here, he loved you. Right?” He was just guessing, filling in the blanks. But she had so many pictures of him. She missed him. He had no pictures of his father anywhere. So her dad must have loved her.

Julian sat down and leaned back on the velour rollback couch. He scanned the ceiling, hoping for a cue from someone celestial—a guardian angel or something. “Now what? Now what? What the hell does ‘discern what she needs to do’ mean? Christ, I miss my life. I even miss my obnoxious sidekick, Frank. I wonder how he’s doing. I wonder if my mother and father even bothered to come to the hospital.”

Kate rolled over and stood up. She had the remote for the CD player in her hand.

“Shit. Don’t play that song again, Kate. Put on something cool…something upbeat. Something that will make you smile just a little bit.”

Julian stood and followed Kate over to the stereo system and said, over and over again, “Something happy. Play something happy.”

He repeated it ten times, twenty, thirty.

“Play something happy. Play something happy.”

He kept at it, and then he watched in amazement as she stopped, her finger poised on the “Repeat” button for that hopelessly depressing Stevie Nicks’s song. Kate looked conflicted, and she bit her lip. Then she started running her fingers over her CD collection, her lips moving silently as she read the spines of her CDs, looking for something.

“That’s it,” Julian urged. “Pick something else. This is so cool. Like you can hear me.”

He was inches away from her face. He reached out his hand to touch her, but she didn’t flinch. He could feel her skin, could tell he was touching her, but it didn’t translate to his senses in the way things had before he got to Neither Here Nor There. Julian took his hand away and looked at his own fingertips. He didn’t feel warmth or coolness, but instead a vague numbness, like he had been shot with Novocain through his whole body.

He leaned still closer to Kate, close to her ear, and whispered again, “Choose something happy.”

He watched as her face crinkled into a smile. Her eyes grew shiny for a split second.

“Here it is,” she said aloud. She took a CD from the shelf, opened it, and pressed a few buttons until the CD player came to a stop on the ninth song.

A bass being plucked. A little jazzy sound.

“What the hell is this?” Julian asked. “Christ, girl, have you ever heard of the Sex Pistols, the Clas or the Who? What is this shit?”

Then a voice, unmistakable, began singing the tune, “Fly Me to the Moon.”

“Sinatra? Frank Sinatra?” Julian looked at Kate. “I asked for a happy tune, but Sinatra?”

He studied her face as she smiled and then hummed, and then even sang a line or two. She swayed.

“This makes you happy?” Julian asked her, knowing no response was forthcoming. He decided being her caseworker was like being a detective. He looked up toward the ceiling, assuming he was speaking to the Boss, wherever She was. “You know, it would be a lot easier if you would just let me talk to her. Let her have a vision or something. Let me ask her stuff.”

He received no reply. What did he expect, lightning bolts? A voice from on high? A chorus of angels?

Kate wandered over to the mantle, to the picture of the fireman in his dress blues. She ran her index finger along the top of the frame.

“That’s it,” Julian said. “Sinatra reminds you of your dad.” He was pleased with himself for figuring that out.

Kate stroked the picture. “Aw, Daddy,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

Then she moved over to the bookshelves and took down a photograph in a simple brass frame. Julian hurried to follow her, to try to see what this picture was.

But the photograph wasn’t of a human being. It wasn’t her father at all. Or the loser who’d cheated on her. Or even her missing dog. Julian looked over Kate’s shoulder. She was staring at a photograph of the New York skyline. Before September 11, when two towers rose high to the heavens soaring above the rest of the buildings.

“Is that how he died?” Julian asked her. “Is that how your dad died?”

Then he watched as Kate put the picture back. The smile disappeared, and soon she was crying all over again.

“Shit!” said Julian. “This is harder than it looks.”

Kate looked in the direction of a clock. “One a.m.” She sighed and walked over to her telephone. She punched in a number and said, “Hi, Helen. This is Kate Darby. I’m just leaving you a message that I won’t be in…today. It’s one in the morning. My apartment was broken into. I’m exhausted. I don’t have anything that can’t wait until Friday. I’m fine. I’m not fine, but don’t worry. I’ll see you Friday. Thanks.”

She hung up and then walked over to her couch. She turned off the lamp and the room fell into grayness, illuminated outside by streetlights. She lay down and curled into a fetal position. She sighed. Julian watched as her eyes grew heavy, and then shut, and her breathing fell into a rhythm of sleep. He sat down next to her. He shut his eyes. But then he realized—and he wasn’t sure how—but he realized he wouldn’t fall asleep. That he couldn’t. That he didn’t need to. Being a spirit was a 24/7 job. Spirits didn’t sleep.

“Damn! What the hell am I supposed to do?” He tried to visualize a beer. It didn’t materialize. He snapped his fingers and said, “Beer, please!” Nothing happened.

He stood up and walked around the apartment looking for more clues to her life. The sooner he solved her problems, the sooner he’d rack up some points in the Good column and hopefully get back to his life.

Her refrigerator was covered with pictures of herself and friends, including one chick with a punky haircut who was in most of them. He tried to open a drawer but found he couldn’t. He thought about it and guessed that if spirits could open and close things at will, the world would seem like one giant haunted house.

He went to the door and decided to practice walking through. Don’t hesitate was what Gus told him. Gus was an odd little fellow, but at least Gus could see him. Talk to him. Have a conversation. When Gus was with him, they had sailed right through the door.

“Here goes nothing,” he said aloud. His first attempt, he smacked into the door. He didn’t feel any pain though. The second time, he made a running start and burst right through.

“Yeah!” he cheered when he found himself standing in the empty apartment hallway. He faced the door of the apartment across the hall from Kate’s and decided to go be a voyeur in someone else’s place. Maybe he’d get lucky and see someone having sex. Live porn. Girl-on-girl would be even better. He looked up and down the hallway, thinking of the possibilities of sex behind every door. Life—if that’s what you called it—in Neither Here Nor There was starting to get interesting.

Walking through the door across the hall, he emerged in a small living room, the mirror image of Kate’s. A “man couch”—black leather—faced a flat-screen television. Two people, their backs to him, were watching a Law & Order rerun. An old woman sat close to a guy around his age, maybe late-twenties, early thirties. The Law & Order rerun was one with Lenny Briscoe—his favorite TV cop. The old woman looked up—stared right at him, in fact, and asked, “Who are you?”

“You can see me?”

“Of course I can.”

He walked over to the couch. “Can he see me?”

“No.”

“He’s the guy who lives here?”

She nodded. “He’s my grandson.”

“Are you a Guide?”

“No.”

“An angel?”

“Yes.”

“Where are your wings?”

“They’re a pain in the ass. Always getting in the way.” She stood, and he could see wings, all folded up, on her back.

“How come you’re here and not in Heaven?”

“Zack needs some help. His wife died over a year ago. Almost two years now. Tragic. Lovely girl. She was in a car accident. And it’s all this time later and still…he won’t go out. Won’t see his old friends. One by one, they’ve given up on him. Except one—Tony. They grew up together. Tony hadn’t been to church since I used to drag the two of them on Sundays when they were little. In Queens. That Tony…good boy. Now he works on Wall Street. Tony, he went to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Prayed for help for Zack. My supervisor decided I was the best angel for the job. I know Zack. So, I’m working on it.”

Julian got a brilliant idea. “Well, now Grandma, I think we might be able to help each other.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. He looked closely at her now. Her skin was luminous. But her hair was all white. He could tell she was old. Her voice was a little tremulous. She was wearing a baggy housecoat like the one his own grandmother used to wear. But her skin…it glowed.

“Look, I’m from Neither Here Nor There. I have no experience in this. I have absolutely no idea what the heck I’m doing. I literally started this job today.”

She winced slightly. “Tough job, young man. Usually you Neither Here Nor There fellows are short-timers. You either come out of the coma, or your situation, and go back to your bodies…or you go…you know, up or down. It’s not enough time to get a lot done. Me? I have eternity.”

“Yeah. Tough gig is right. So listen, I need to earn some points with the Boss. I’m looking for some solutions here. I don’t have time to sit around and watch TV, no offense.”

“Who’s your assignment?”

“The chick across the hall.”

“Kate?”

“You know her?”

“Oh, yes. She baked Zack some Christmas cookies last Christmas. Left them in front of his door in a basket. She sent flowers when Meg died. Lovely girl, Kate.”

“Yeah. So…come on, Granny. Let’s get the two of them together, and it will solve both our problems.”

“She has a boyfriend.”

“Past tense. Had a boyfriend. The creep cheated on her. With her best friend, no less. She’s a mess.”

“Poor thing.”

“And her apartment was broken into.”

“I know. A junkie looking for drugs or stuff to sell for drugs.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“We can’t intervene like that. We have to intervene in subtle ways—by comforting and giving strength, not by stopping a crime. I’m not the angel version of Kojak, young man.”

“Well, maybe you can just get Zack to…I don’t know…‘accidentally’ go to the laundry room at the precise time she does? Check his mail at the same time.”

“You’re talking Heavenly Coincidences.”

“Yeah.”

Zack’s grandmother looked over at her grandson. He sighed, shoulders slumped.

“It’s worth a try.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Okay, Julian. We’ll see what we can do.”

“I’d sure appreciate it…. Oh, and did you happen to see where her dog went?”

“The little Yorkie?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Well…if Zack just so happened to find her little dog, I think it would go a long way with her, you know. See what you can do. Check with some other angels. Somebody’s got to know where the dog went.”

He turned and walked through the door. It got easier each time he did it. He considered going to look for a couple having sex. But he thought better of it. What if Kate woke up? If she did something that could offer him more clues? He decided to sit next to her while she slept.

He walked through the door into her apartment. She was snoring slightly, nestled under her blanket. He thought the sound she made was kind of cute; not quite a snore, but a little sighing noise. He wasn’t sure why, but in Neither Here Nor There, when he was away from her, he worried. Like he had to be sure she was all right. He decided it was because he was still extremely freaked out by his nearly dead coma body, by being shot, by everything that had happened to him.

Tonight, he’d sit by her. Tomorrow night? Hunt for lesbians.

Night passed slowly. He had nothing to do but pace in her apartment and sit next to her and wonder what she was dreaming about. Occasionally, he’d drift to the window and stare out at the street—at life going on without him. He was unseen. Unheard.

Julian sighed. He never thought he would miss sleep. Hell, he had snorted cocaine to avoid sleep in his life. He couldn’t even turn on the television and considered going over to hang out with Grandma. But he felt strangely responsible for Kate. When the sun rose, and then she stirred near nine, he was excited. Even if she didn’t talk back to him, he could talk to her, and that was sort of like company.

“Good morning, Kate,” he said as she climbed out of bed. He watched her brush her teeth in the small bathroom off of the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the tub while she brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail.

“What are we doing today?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

He followed her as she spent the morning and part of the early afternoon cleaning up after the break-in. She righted a knocked-over lamp, and put papers that had been strewn on the floor into a desk drawer. While she was at it, she dusted the furniture and organized her shelves. At lunch, she walked into the kitchen and ate a blueberry yogurt. He peered into her fridge. Yogurt, bottled water, wilted celery. He guessed she didn’t cook much. Then he realized he wasn’t hungry. So aside from not sleeping, that meant he didn’t eat in Neither Here Nor There. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had anything to drink since he got there, either.

The phone rang.

“Hi, Mallory,” Kate said when she picked up the receiver, after glancing at Caller ID.

From what he could figure out from only one side of the conversation, Mallory had apparently tried reaching Kate at the office. Kate blurted out about her now-ex-boyfriend, and Mallory then got a blow-by-blow of the entire sordid affair. The break-in. The missing dog. Kate curled her legs under her as she sat in a club chair next to the telephone. Julian flopped on the couch and waited. Women sure could talk on the phone for a long time.

After Kate hung up, the super for the building came and changed the locks. He said he was letting the other tenants know about the break-in, too.

Locks changed, place straightened up, next she made fliers of her missing dog. She printed them out on her computer. While she was in the photo files on her computer, he got a mini-slideshow of her life. She poised her finger on the mouse, considering deleting all the David ones. She didn’t. Then there were the Leslie JPEGs. Leslie and Kate at a bar, looking like they were having a blast. Leslie and Kate at some book signing. Leslie and Kate lying on a beach somewhere. Bikini shots. He liked those.

“She’s a bitch, Kate.”

Still Kate stared at the screen.

So he began talking incessantly. “Delete her. Exorcize her from your life.”

He watched as Kate’s index finger trembled slightly on the mouse. He leaned closer to her face. “Delete the bitch.”

Her face turned resolute. She clicked…and Leslie was gone. Poof. Off Kate’s computer.

“Holy shit, I can do it,” he said. “You can hear me. I know you can.”

Kate stood and walked to the window. The day had meandered toward early evening. Julian looked at her profile as she gazed down on the street. He tried to follow her line of sight, and realized she was staring at couples strolling near the park, hand in hand under the lampposts. A drag queen strutted by in a halter top and tight jeans, a piercing in her belly button. She wasn’t, Julian mused, an attractive drag queen. Her hands were manly and her face was, well…like a guy with a bad wig. Suddenly, she waved at someone coming in the opposite direction. She flew at a guy in jeans, flip-flops and a T-shirt, and next thing Julian knew, the two of them were making out on the corner.

Kate sighed. “Even the trannies have love.”

“Worse, even the ugly trannies have love. Time to get you out of this apartment.”